


An Ode to Friendship (5 times George sleep talks and 1 time he doesn't)

by oilpainter



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1950s, 1960s, 5+1 Things, Angst, Early Beatles, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, George Harrison Is a Good Friend, I love that tag, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Paul and George are basically brothers & nothing can convince me otherwise, Post-Break Up, Sleeptalking, Wholesome Interactions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oilpainter/pseuds/oilpainter
Summary: George is usually a pretty quiet, calm person - so when Paul shares a bed with him for the first time at a sleepover, he doesn't expect to be elbowed, kicked and poked all through the night, with George mumbling to himself and even holding a full conversation while asleep. Honestly, the kid never shuts up.Or, the five times Paul witnesses George sleep talking, and the one time he doesn't.
Relationships: George Harrison & Paul McCartney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	An Ode to Friendship (5 times George sleep talks and 1 time he doesn't)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again with another story I'll probably write a few chapters for and then procrastinate and never get back to it. Hope you enjoy anyway.  
> & Happy birthday to George for today :)

Paul wasn't exactly friendless; there were plenty of lads in his school year who he spoke to and played dominoes or conkers with during the lunch break. He wasn't bullied either, despite being a little overweight and being musically talented rather than sporty. The friends he had at school were just no more than schoolmates, people to pass the time with or compare maths notes with. So far, up until his 2nd year in secondary school, he hadn't had any friends close enough to want to invite home. 

That's why he was a little uncomfortable sharing a bed with George Harrison, who was a small, skinny 11-year-old with bony elbows that kept poking him in the ribs. It was nice to finally have a proper friend from the Liverpool Institute to share bus rides, guitar chords and rock and roll records with. George was always pretty quiet and calm; so when he invited the younger lad over for a Friday night sleepover, Paul hadn't expected him to be so wriggly and squirmy in bed.

It was getting a bit annoying now.

Every time he finally managed to rest his eyes and almost nod off, George would be there with a poke of a sharp elbow or a cold foot softly kicking him under the covers. He would restlessly turn over and sigh in his sleep, then turn over onto his other side again, wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets and hogging them all.

Paul shivered. His mum would probably tell him off for not accomodating their guest, but he was bloody freezing and didn't want to move downstairs to sleep on the sofa.

"Shove up, give us summa the blankets," he whispered quietly to George, who mumbled incoherent protests in his sleep but complied when Paul took his half back. 

After shuffling around a bit and burrowing under the covers, huddling up next to the younger boy to conserve some heat in the chilly December night, Paul finally got comfortable and was just about to finish counting sheep when-

"Ow!" he whispered furiously as George's limp arm flapped over to slap him in the face. "You - daft bugger-"

"Sorry," George mumbled in reply. 

"Oh - did I wake you up?" Paul asked awkwardly. He wasn't going to get much sleep tonight but the least he could do was let George sleep through it. The poor lad probably wasn't aware that he was such a restless sleeper and he surely wouldn't appreciate being woken up for nothing.

George didn't reply, or he said something so quiet and incoherent that Paul didn't even bother trying to interpret it. He must have gone straight back to sleep.

Everything was getting darker and more peaceful... and then Paul was pulled out of trying to sleep again.

"Is... is Santa still going to come? I did some bad things this year," George said clearly and innocently, shuffling up to sit against the wall, with his eyes blearily half-open. He looked a little disorientated and he had a messy bedhead.

"Wha... huh?" Paul asked in the middle of a yawn, wondering what the hell his mate was even talking about. "George, you're nearly twelve, y'know by now that Santa doesn't exist, yeah?"

There was silence for a moment as if George was contemplating whether Santa was real or not.

"Is he still going to visit though?" he asked, as if he hadn't fully heard or wasn't listening to Paul. "Don't tell mum... but I didn't wash or dry the beans... I bet I'll get coal in the stocking this year..."

_Dry the beans?_

Paul blinked a few times and snickered to himself as it registered that he was having a real, almost-sensical conversation with George while he was asleep. "George," he wheezed quietly, trying not to be too loud to wake his friend up. "Are you sleep talking?"

George murmured something about mashing potatoes with a hammer. 

"Ok," Paul replied. "Mashed potatoes and dry beans. Got it."

"I told the big shark thing to bite your toes off too," the younger boy said calmly. "I... I did some real bad things this year."

"Right, um, that's alright, don't worry about it, I'm sure I can ask the... big shark thing... not to bite my toes. What else did you do?" Paul murmured back, biting his fist to stop himself from laughing.

George was still sitting up against the wall with the covers around him like a cocoon again. He stared wide-eyed through the dark in Paul's general direction; but it was more like he was staring straight through him into the far distance. It was obvious he wasn't completely there and his half-asleep brain was just continuing the conversation. 

Paul was half creeped out and half amused. 

Well, mostly amused. 

"I, um, put seeds in me hair for the birds to eat but they didn't eat it. I think... I mighta offended them," George whispered the last part dejectedly, as if he felt really guilty for the birds.

Paul snorted and put his hand over his mouth, trying not to wake up Mike or his parents in the neighbouring rooms. What the hell was George dreaming about? Where did his sleep-talking thoughts come from?

"Anything-" Paul cleared his throat quietly, suppressing a laugh. "Anything else you want to confess?"

"Yeah, uh-huh," George murmured, shuffling down again and wriggling around to lie down and get comfortable in the bed again. "There're bodies in the attic," he said in a serious, deadpan voice. "Lots and lots of dead people. They're all hidden up there."

His breathing evened out and he snored, not saying anything else. Then he stilled, and stopped wriggling and squirming in his sleep. 

Paul stared, horrified and wide-eyed, his lively imagination playing tricks on him and planting nasty images in his mind.

"Oh," he whispered. " _Oh._ Thanks, now I won't sleep at all."

George didn't reply; he was sound asleep by now, probably dreaming about mashed potato and sharks. 

Paul didn't get much sleep for the rest of the night; but he wasn't expecting to anyway.

At least he would have an entertaining story to share the next morning.


End file.
